


Bound Home

by Lamachine



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For some people, dying is just the beginning.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A tale of women breaking rules, cheating death and saving worlds to find their way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samsgroves](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=samsgroves), [kesdax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning: I've planned for a long story, and the mature rating is mostly there as a safety measure for possible violence and eventual smut-like moments (those two will never mix). Expect a badass trio of women running around from one dimension to the next, being awesome and heroic and everything the shows never allowed them to be.

As soon as she regained consciousness, panic seized Tara’s heart in its vicious claw, digging into the muscle, tearing holes in the flesh. From those invisible wounds it seemed as if fear trickled down quietly, like icy water threatening to flood her lungs. Tara gasped painfully, some strange ache pounding relentlessly throughout her upper body. Her ears still buzzed with the deafening sound of an explosion – no, not one; it was five, five gunshots – and she couldn’t feel her legs.

 

_Where on Earth was she?_

 

A blinding light burned her retinas and she shot her eyes closed, ignoring the pressing question budding inside – that _urge_ to seek answers. An unruly need to know where she was, and what had happened to her; as urgent as those interrogations were, she had more important matters at hand.

 

Like remembering how to breathe.

 

Terrified and confused, Tara willed herself to overcome the shock that immobilized her, and drew in another breath. Although the movement caused the same amount of pain as it had the first time around, it seemed lessened, somehow; perhaps because this time, she had expected the agonizing ache. Unwillingly shedding tears, Tara exhaled slowly, her raw throat protesting the abuse with a shallow cough that sent ripples of ache along her ribs.

 

One by one, her most recent memories returned to her mind, but they were hazy, unfocused. Sunlight peeking through the curtains; Willow’s smile, just as bright. Red drops splashing on her white shirt, red beads of – Tara’s blood –

 

– A bullet.

 

Not a spell, or a sword, or the sadistic hand of a goddess – no, what had ran through her and tore her chest open had been this tiny, trivial piece of metal.

 

One small bullet – how did it hurt so much?

 

But if there was one thing that Tara had learned early in life, it was how to cope with pain. She pushed past the temptation of bursting into sobs and opened her eyelids again, slow and careful this time.

 

Slightly dimmed by the water in her eyes, the intense light was almost welcomed. Even though she couldn’t see very far, Tara realised that she was outside, lying down on the grass. As she grasped the new information it seemed her other senses kicked in, nearly overwhelming her. Suddenly she could smell the strong scent of nearby flowers, and feel the blades of grass stubbornly prickling her neck and forearms. A bitter and metallic taste rested at the back of her mouth.

 

Had she been moved to the front yard? Where was Willow?

 

No matter how she tried, however, Tara couldn’t hear anything around her. She doubted that her surroundings were silent; with the way her eardrums throbbed angrily, she guessed something had deafened her when she had been injured. After a few more pained breaths some noises reached her, but muffled, like she was deep underwater.

 

Her muscles protested when she willed her hands to move, examining her chest only to find no bandages, blood or wounds. The thought of internal bleeding caused her stomach to turn over, her earlier queasiness returning in full force. It was _wrong_ , everything was off – she wasn’t supposed to be here.

 

If she had been hurt, Tara should have woken up in Sunnydale’s hospital, with Willow’s hand wrapped tightly around hers. Dawn would have fallen asleep on a chair beside her bed, one of Buffy’s leather jackets rolled into a pillow at the crook of her neck. Leaning against the doorframe Buffy would gaze at her with an odd mix of concern and pride, and while she’d stay silent Xander would crack a joke. Something about the lack of bulletproof protection spells or maybe some obscure reference to a comic book Tara would have never even heard of before.

 

And everything would be alright.

 

And Tara wouldn’t be _alone_.

 

With that thought, the claw around her heart tightened its grip, its pointy fingers so cold that it burned. For one split second, Tara wanted nothing more than to let it consume her whole, to close her eyes again and allow herself to sink back into the darkness.

 

To fade away, and forget about this strange meadow, about the bullet that had wreaked havoc inside her chest; she wished she wouldn’t remember that morning and the way the light caught Willow’s red curls or how Dawn’s voice had warmed up in joy, an effortless glee that Tara hadn’t heard in a long time.

 

Not even once, ever since Joyce had left...

 

And now Tara had gone too. Been sent here, to this other realm, and why?

 

 

The word carved through her mind like lightning, echoing loudly all throughout the rest of her body, as if thunder. _No._

 

Although her lips couldn’t quite push out the sound, Tara repeated it over and over again as she struggled to push herself off the ground. She wouldn’t do that to Dawn – she wouldn’t abandon her.

 

Tara would live, and she would fight, and she would find her way home.

 

If she could only get herself to stand up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two or three hours must have passed as she lied there in the middle of the meadow, patiently regaining control of her limbs. Tara had no way to tell exactly how long she had been there; dark grey clouds sealed the sky above her head, a curtain so thick that she wondered how light could even reach the ground where she now stood. It didn’t matter, anyway; somehow, Tara had travelled to another realm of existence, which meant it had its own set of rules she would know nothing about.

 

If the immobile darkened sky hadn’t already given that away, the golden glimmer around the surrounding trees made it impossible to doubt. Everything else had faded colours, as if the world itself was exhausted, washed out. It was eerie, but not threatening.

 

The pain in her chest had faded to a dull ache, and she hadn’t found any physical injury related to it; only a small red scar shaped like a cross. Tara had shivered when she had dragged her index over it, not daring to ponder too long on how it had gotten there.

 

It wasn’t important, anyway – she had to focus on her goal, and find a way to travel back to where she belonged.

 

She only wished she would have had time to grab a few supplies with her before leaving Sunnydale; not that it had been her choice to travel here in the first place. She absently wondered who would ever want to get rid of her. Maybe she had been caught in crossfire? But it had been such a lovely morning... She shook her head. How she had gotten to this world didn’t matter now; she had to focus on the present. Tara made a mental inventory of her possessions; wearing a pair of jeans and a blue sweater, she also had a pack of gum of no socks. All of it could offer very little protection if she met harsher conditions.

 

Fortunately for her, so far the weather in this world had been rather kind. From time to time a soft breeze blew over the trees, although the clouds above her head hadn’t moved one bit. The absence of wildlife – there hadn’t been even a single insect ever since she had woken up – worried her slightly, but then again she hoped it was only a matter of luck.

 

Not that she had a lot of that in the past.

 

Now that she was able to stand without her knees giving in, Tara could study her surroundings a little more. Up ahead, between two large lilac bushes, a narrow trail ventured into the forest – she settled on exploring it first. With every step, the pain in her chest flickered, sparks of ache that would eventually dull out. Or at least, she expected it would, over time.

 

It didn’t take long for Tara to reach the limits of the woods, the trees around her getting scarce. In the near distance, straight ahead, she could see a column of black smoke, almost unwavering as it reached the sky. A village or a camp, perhaps – but she still didn’t hear voices – or any kind of noise, for that matter. Yet her resolve strengthened at the sight, and she walked a little faster, ignoring the protestations of her muscles and articulations.

 

The closer she got, the more her pulse quickened. It felt oddly reassuring now, the constant ticking of her heart – a reminder that somehow, she was still alive. She would return to her family, to her home. She had to.

 

There was hope; after all, they had brought Buffy back from worse, hadn’t they?

 

Tara set the thought aside as it reminded her of all it had cost them, to resurrect Buffy. Of how it had shattered everything in their world, had cracked the foundations under their feet. She wouldn’t let that happen with her; she would be cautious, and would find a safe passage between the realms.

 

She was in a mystical land after all, wasn’t she? There had to be something, somewhere, that she could use. She only had to look.

 

“Dani, if you don’t climb down that tree right now I’m leaving you here,” a man shouted in the distance, startling Tara.

 

Scanning the land ahead to find the source of the sound, Tara noticed a tiny silhouette hunched over a branch, a little further downhill. A high-pitched voice – _Dani_ ’s, perhaps – replied in an enthusiastic mixture of laughter and incomprehensible screams. Just as Tara stepped closer, the child disappeared from her sight. Tara frowned as she reached the cherry tree, searching for the first sign of life she had encountered in hours.

 

Nothing. Not even footsteps on the ground or heavy breathing.

 

Tara shook her head, now convinced that she had imagined both the man’s voice and the kid’s. She turned around and a little girl popped out of a bush in front of her, eyes gleaming with mischief. In her right palm she held about a dozen of small berries, the fruits bright, round and red. Air rushed out of Tara’s lungs as it reminded her of beads of blood, but as she blinked the vision faded from her mind.

 

“A gift for the princess,” Dani grinned.

 

A couple of leaves had gotten stuck in her messy black curls, and under her left eye Tara could see the faint line of a star-shaped scar.

 

Dani’s smile faltered as she lifted her hand a little higher. “You can’t say no to a gift,” she explained, pouting.

 

Shivering, the pain in Tara’s chest started to burn again, and she could feel tears of sweat running down her spine. She opened her mouth to answer – maybe to ask what those fruits were – but couldn’t find her voice.

 

A man, the girl’s father Tara deduced, reached them with a frown on his face. Tall and muscular, he somehow reminded Tara of Riley Finn. But where Riley’s eyes had always softened in kindness, this man looked cold, his sharp jaw clenching at the sight of Tara.

 

“Daddy I found a princess,” Dani squealed with joy when she saw him approaching, immediately running up to him with little notice to his angered expression.

 

It took a few seconds for Tara to realise that Dani’s scrubby little finger was pointing at her.

 

The father’s gaze turned weary, but curious as he scrutinised her from head to toes. “That, you did,” he noted, glancing at his daughter before he swooped her off the ground. “Come here.”

 

Tara took in a deep breath to try speaking again, but the perfume of the nearby white lilacs was suddenly dizzying. Her eyes blurred and no amount of blinking seemed to fix it as her body ran hot and cold, her knees weakening yet again.

 

“You alright miss?” the father asked, concern etched all over his face.

 

Somehow, Tara couldn’t stop thinking that all she needed was to breathe some fresh air, which was perhaps ridiculous since she was quite obviously outdoors. But she needed _out_. Out of those woods and away from those bushes of lilacs – white lilacs with red berries, no that wasn’t right. She had to leave, to find a village or a camp; a place somewhere, _anywhere_ , to sit down and _think_.

 

But she couldn’t.

 

“I think she can’t speak,” Dani informed her father, still smiling even as she shoved a handful of berries in her mouth.

 

Maybe Tara had to try communicating something simpler; her name maybe? Yet the words wouldn’t come. She could mouth the phrase, could feel her tongue pushing out the air, but no sound would leave her lips.

 

She thought of the Gentlemen and tears gathered in her eyes.

 

The man walked a little closer, his daughter still tucked in his arms. “Do you need help? Are you hurt?”

 

And just like that, all of Tara’s strength, all her resolve, it washed out of her like a river breaking a dam, wild and unstoppable. Her cheeks burned up as her vision shadowed, and the darkness returned then, as cold and unforgiving as it had been before.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She couldn’t smell the lilacs anymore. No, now the air felt crisp, dry and still. The flowery scent had been replaced by a desiccated odor that seemed familiar, but Tara couldn’t place it. It tugged at the back of her mind, a quiet warning to move, and yet she couldn’t find the strength.

 

_Fire._

 

Something was burning. She had to stand up, had to get to safety-

 

Or she could stay here, and wait, and die.

 

A strange uplifting sensation rolled inside her chest at the thought, an insane energy that rustled under her sternum until she allowed it to curl her lips into a smile. But that only cracked her up and what started as a quiet giggle rapidly turned into an uncontrollable laughter that brought water to her eyes.

 

She _could_ die, could she?

 

Or was this hell already?

 

Struggling to sit upright, Tara barely noticed the thin mattress between her and the wooden floor, or even the erected walls of the cabin she had woken in. More than that, she couldn’t see Dani and her father standing just a few meters apart, staring at her with concern. All Tara could distinguish were blurry and silent silhouettes, while tears rushed down her cheeks in rivers.

 

Only the wildfire of pain in her chest stopped her from completely losing her mind in that moment, as an anchor bringing her back to port despite the storm that raged inside. Tara choked on her crazed laughter as it turned into a sob, and hid her face into her hands.

 

_This couldn’t be happening._

 

She was in Sunnydale, sleeping in her apartment near the campus, and this was simply a nightmare. Or she was with Willow, in those impossibly warm sheets, both of them dead to the world, content on being together again. If she only opened her eyes again, Tara would see.

 

But when she slowly removing her palms from over her face, Tara found Dani kneeling in front of her, her previous grin turned into a curious expression.

 

“Miss, are you crazy?” she politely asked and her father let out a sharp, disapproving “Dani!”

 

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Tara tried a weak reassuring smile. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, her voice strained, throat still burning.

 

“Leave the poor woman alone,” the father ordered. Blinking, Tara finally managed to see him, stirring a pot over a fireplace.

 

This was their home, she realised as he grabbed three wooden bowls from a nearby cabinet. Tara tried not to wince as he served what looked like dinner – a brown concoction that smelled like bacon. Her stomach turned over at the scent, and as she breathed down deeply to quiet it down, Tara realised she wasn’t hungry.

 

She wondered if it was the exhaustion, the pain, or because of what had happened to her. It seemed wrong, though – she had been starving before, when she was with Willow. She had been meaning to bake some more pancakes for Buffy, Dawn, Willow and her. And Xander, she remembered – Xander was there, too.

 

But none of them were here now, and the thought of pancakes only brought the tears back in her eyes.

 

The sound of one the bowls landing on the table snapped Tara back in the present. As Dani quickly shuffled back to her feet, taking her seat on one of the chairs, Tara ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the curls. Slurping noises made her flinch, and yet when Tara caught the father rolling his eyes at his child, comfortable warmth settled in her guts.

 

“Here, this’ll bring back some colours to your cheeks,” he offered her a ration of soup, smiling at her gently.

 

With her back resting against the wall, Tara let out a breath and shook her head. Somehow, the more she stayed in this world, the more it became impossible to ignore. This truth bursting inside, it was bludgeoning its way through her chest. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she admitted, the words choking up her throat.

 

She couldn’t bring herself to face it just yet, but she had to.

 

Everything pointed to that.

 

The man frowned as he kneeled in front of her. “Why’s that?”

 

The gunshot, this strange world, the lack of hunger... Tara knew.

 

“I think,” she glanced at the child and lowered her voice. It wasn’t something a kid should hear, not even something Tara should be saying, really. “I think I’m dead.”

 

His eyes softened as his hand fell on her shoulder. It weighed heavy, but Tara felt lighter than before. As if the confession had relieved her from all this pain inside.

 

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his empathic gaze nearly burning as it fell on Tara’s face. “Here, we all are.”


	2. the highest peak (1)

Darkness had drowned the landscape like ink flooding out of a pen, staining everything on its way, and still Tara did not move. She could barely see the golden tree leaves waving in the night breeze, and as she lifted her eyes up, she couldn’t even find stars to comfort her.

 

Gone were the Big Pineapple, the Moose Getting a Sponge Bath, and the Short Man Looking Uncomfortable. All those constellations she had renamed as a child, that had kept her company while she watched her mother slowly slipping away from her; she’d never gaze upon them again.

 

She was alone now, truly alone. Not even imaginary friends could follow someone to a dead realm, it seemed.

 

Tara shivered, not only from the thought; having been sitting on the porch for over an hour, the unforgiving cold had seeped into her bones. And yet she didn’t want to move; not yet. No matter how freezing she was, she had no desire of seeking refuge inside the cabin, where the fire would no doubt add some colours to her cheeks.

 

In there, she knew for a fact, she would find Dani sleeping soundly – peacefully, even – and beside her, a welcoming, empty bed improvised for Tara. Victor had invited her to stay the night, had promised to help her acclimate to this new world as best he could, and perhaps that should have been enough to allow her to rest. Especially with the impossible weight of exhaustion pressing down her shoulders relentlessly, as if it was ready to bury her into the ground.

 

And yet it wasn’t enough to stop the thoughts from swirling in her mind, to calm her erratic heartbeats.

 

Instead, Tara had preferred the sting of tonight’s cold air against her cheeks, her nearly frozen limbs messily folded in front of her. How she missed the burn of the Californian sun – how she strangely regretted spending most of her time in Sunnydale hiding from it in libraries, in the Magic Box. Tonight, she longed to feel the tingling of a treacherous sunburn on her skin, but it couldn’t be. She settled for the slow aching of a bitter and chilly breeze, and found comfort in the quiet murmur of the golden leaves rising and falling with every change of wind.

 

With her heart still beating and her lungs still drawing breath, Tara couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that she was in one of the dead realms. Somehow, what little information Buffy had volunteered about her time in Heaven seemed to her more real and tangible than even the cabin wall she laid her back against. It made _sense_ , that Buffy’s reward after having sacrificed her life to save the world would be pure, endless paradise.

 

And of course Tara would never think that she’d deserve the same – she had been selfish in many ways, reckless even, at times. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a cruel voice had reawakened. One that she had silenced years ago, speaking the words she had forgotten to fear.

 

_You’re bad_ , it whispered relentlessly. _All the women in this family are bad_.

 

What her father had taught her ever since she was a child, it was all wrong. Tara’s friends – no, Tara’s _family_ – had proven that. It was a lie, a horrible bedtime story to keep the women in line, but Tara wasn’t a demon. And not only was she human, and a person, but she was a good one at that.

 

One of the good guys.

 

_You can’t fool death_ , his snarky voice insisted.

 

Once before Buffy had scared Tara’s father out of town, and therefore Tara chose to focus her thoughts on her, and on the Scoobies. This group of misfits that had become her whole world, she missed them so much that her chest throbbed with ache. Tears gathered at her eyes as she tried to remember how they had believed in her, had loved her.

 

Surely, that meant something, in the grand scheme of things.

 

And yet she had been sent here, hadn’t she? All the way down into Hell.

 

The more she reflected on that, the more likely it seemed to be true. A world lacking colours, with lilacs as white as snow making berries so red that they seemed gruesome – a universe where time barely ticked, with clouds that closed off the sky… it certainly couldn’t be heaven.

 

But it was where Tara truly belonged. What the Powers That Be believed she deserved.

 

She had studied magic and the occult long enough to know that there could be no mistake here, no tricks that would have sent her soul to the wrong place. Once a person died, their essence travelled to the realm that best fit the sum of their existence, and the cycle started once more. There could be no errors, and certainly no bargaining to be tried.

 

No way of getting out of here.

 

A shiver ran down Tara’s spine, and she pulled the sleeves of her blue sweater until she could finally hide her hands inside them, like she had done so many times before. What little comfort the gesture brought her was short-lived; a blanket fell at her feet, startling her, and it was almost a miracle that she did not scream in surprise. Instead she drew in a sharp breath, and tried to smother the shock as she met with Victor’s tentative smile.

 

As he sat beside her, imitating her posture, Tara remained silent. She ignored the slight annoyance at being disturbed, and the childish urge to stand up and leave in anger. Pulling the blanket over her legs, she let her muscles slowly relax into the warmth it offered.

 

With his eyes gazing at the darkness surrounding his house, Victor let out a sigh. “I wanted to thank you,” he spoke quietly, as if worried the sound could wake Dani up.

 

Tara cleared her throat, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t manage to smile back at him. “I think that’s my line,” she noted, even though she couldn’t find it in herself to be grateful.

 

All she could feel was the exhaustion washing over her, and the longing for a world that wasn’t hers anymore.

 

Victor nodded pensively. “Dani usually makes such a fuss when bedtime comes,” he added with a sigh.

 

Earlier tonight, Dani had asked Tara to sing her a song to help her fall asleep, and had sunk into slumber so quickly that Tara had feared she had unknowingly cast a spell on the child. But she didn’t feel the tingle of magic dancing at her fingertips, nor the familiar hum of mystical energy in the air around her. There was no magic in this world; even the simplest trick of casting fairy lights hadn’t caused a single spark.

 

“She misses her mother a lot,” Victor confessed, clenching his jaw.

 

The few words broke Tara’s heart; she hadn’t been as young as Dani was when she had lost her mom, and yet it had been a pain impossible to describe. For so long she would return home and expect to find her – and even now, Tara suspected that if she ever stood in that old house again, for a couple of seconds she would be certain her mother was there. A whiff of perfume, the humming of a song she loved, and suddenly she was alive again.

 

But she wasn’t, and neither was Tara.

 

“She used to sing to her every night,” Victor explained in a low voice. He sounded grateful, and it made Tara flinch.

 

It hadn’t been a selfless act of kindness, when she had agreed to tuck Dani into bed and sing her the song her mother used to chase away nightmares. Focusing on Dani had been a welcomed distraction; a means to forget for a moment where she was, and how she had gotten there. For a few minutes, the panic and anger that swelled in her stomach had quieted down, enough that she had believed everything would end up alright, in the end.

 

It reminded her of the summer after Buffy’s death, when Willow was losing herself in research over that resurrection spell, and Dawn haunted the living room, empty but for the anger. Those nights Tara would stay up with Dawn and watch movies until she’d fall asleep, running her fingers into Dawn’s hair and humming quietly, hoping it would soothe her pain a little. All those times Tara had held her close, in silence, forgetting her own grief by concentrating on Dawn’s, and then later, on Willow’s.

 

And just like it did back then, for a little while tonight as her hand had ran into Dani’s messy hair, Tara had felt like she mattered.

 

Like she was _alive_.

 

“Where is she?” Tara asked out of the blue, suddenly curious. When she caught the confusion in Victor’s eyes she added; “Dani’s mom.”

 

He shrugged, once again looking away, as if searching for the answer in the darkened horizon. “Alive, for all I know,” he scrunched up his nose like the thought was upsetting. “I hope she never gets here.”

 

Tara nodded in understanding. As much as she desperately longed to feel Willow’s arms wrapped around her and for her to never leave her side again, Tara was glad that she had woken up in that meadow alone. That no one else had died along with her – Willow, Dawn, Buffy... they were all okay, and safe.

 

The only change was that Tara wasn’t with them anymore.

 

“Do-do you wonder sometimes,” she started in hesitation, and lost the strength to carry on with her thought. Her chest burned in ache as she felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It was a ridiculous idea, not something she should speak aloud, and yet she couldn’t help herself. She needed to voice it, to _confess_ , maybe.

 

Victor waited a few seconds before breaking the silence. “Wonder what?”

 

It was a fool’s errand, and the fact that Tara couldn’t stop thinking about it felt like proof that her father’s voice had been right about her all along. She was bad, and selfish. So selfish. “If there’s a way to go back.”

 

Shaking his head, Victor seemed disappointed in her, but in the dark of the night it was hard to tell. “There’s no way back,” he stated firmly, just like her father would when he would end a conversation. “There’s only here.”

 

Tara knew it as a fact, yes. But still she couldn’t rid her mind of the memory of Dawn, that night Tara had broken things off with Willow. The betrayal and hurt painted on Dawn’s face – how _furious_ she had been when Tara had explained that she was moving out.

 

After that night, Tara had promised Dawn she would never leave again. She couldn’t betray that promise – not _now_. Not when Dawn was just starting to learn who she was and who she wanted to be. Not when Dawn still needed her to be there.

 

“I have to,” Tara confessed with a broken voice, tears swelling in her eyes.

 

The three words fell into the void surrounding the cabin, and she wondered for a moment if she had spoken them aloud.

 

“We all have unfinished business, Tara,” Victor started, the thought obviously painful to him as well. “But even if you could cross over,” he continued, turning to face her, “the price to pay would be enormous.”

 

Bringing Buffy back had unleashed a demon; Tara remembered it quite well, but it wasn’t all it had done. She thought of her own reservations towards the resurrection spell, and how it had paved the way for Willow’s addiction. Everything in their lives had spiralled out of control after they had broken that sacred rule.

 

“Some things you can’t mess with,” Victor concluded, rising to his feet with a sigh.

 

He invited her inside once again, reminding her of the makeshift bed he had made for her by the fire. But Tara couldn’t bring herself to move yet. She shook her head, ignoring Victor as he left, only listening to the comforting sound of the door closing behind him.

 

Alone again.

 

Tara knew what she had to do now, but it wasn’t _right_. It wasn’t fair that she should be asked to let go of the only family she had loved. She conjured the image of lazy Friday nights at the Summers’, watching ridiculous movies and eating too much popcorn. Then the feeling of Willow’s fingers entwined with hers. Remembered Dawn’s annoyed rants about homework while Buffy hid behind her morning coffee.

 

It took her longer than expected, but once Tara started crying, it seemed she simply couldn’t stop. There were no sobs, no painful drawing of breath; only tears that ran down her cheeks like rivers rushing to the ocean.

 

She cried for the life she wouldn’t have, for the people she loved who hurt in her absence. For missing Dawn’s graduation and for not being there when Buffy would find happiness again. For all the New Year’s Eves where she wouldn’t kiss Willow come midnight.

 

Her only comfort was that they were together. They had each other – they would be alright.

 

But as she had been countless of times before, Tara was alone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A quiet morning lighted the horizon, despite the clouds still obstructing the sun. Tara blinked, slumber slowly leaving her as she realised she was still on the porch. Did she even need to sleep, or was it just for the comfort of habits that she had let her mind slip in unconsciousness? The thought was sickening, and she refused to dwell on it longer.

 

She shook her head before running a hand through her hair, trying to rid herself of the night’s hold. Coming from inside the cabin, she could hear a low but joyful chatter, and it brought a shy smile to her lips to know that Dani was awake. The kid’s presence felt oddly reassuring, and even though she didn’t know her very well, Tara was already growing fond of her.

 

Still wrapped in Victor’s blanket, Tara pushed herself off the floor. One last glance at the cloudy sky and then she entered the cabin, hoping her eyes weren’t still red from last night’s tears.

 

“Tara,” Dani squealed cheerfully when she saw her, running into her with arms open. Tara welcomed the hug, although her usual shyness made her feel a bit awkward. Perhaps because she hadn’t spent that much time with kids – Dawn had been already too old for surprise hugs when she had appeared into Tara’s life.

 

“Morning,” Victor smiled at her from the other side of the room. “I see you didn’t take the bed.”

 

It sounded like a veiled reproach, but that might have been Tara’s exhaustion, making her feel paranoid. “I fell asleep on the porch,” Tara explained, embarrassed.

 

Something in Victor’s look had her cheeks reddening as she followed Dani’s lead and sat by the table. “Do you want to come pick flowers with me?” Dani asked, grinning. “After breakfast,” she added with a pout once her father sent her a look.

 

Tara swallowed down her sadness, trying to nod. She wanted to do nothing, to hide under the blanket and cry until she couldn’t anymore. But she had been through enough grief to know that it wouldn’t help, in the long run.

 

It never had.

 

“You love the flowers,” Tara forced herself to smile.

 

It wasn’t really a question, and yet Dani nodded to answer. “Why are you sad?” she questioned without a blink, as if it was a banality.

 

As if the interrogation hadn’t cut through Tara’s heart like a knife.

 

“I miss my family,” Tara explained, pouring all her strength into the words to ensure her voice wouldn’t break. She couldn’t start crying again, or she wouldn’t stop. “I just hope they’re okay.”

 

“I’m sure they are,” Victor promised as he searched for something into a cupboard.

 

Tara sighed, her eyes falling to the floor. “I just wish there was a way to know that,” she breathed out. At some point on the previous night she had realised that waking up alone in this world didn’t mean that no one else had died at the same time. Willow, Buffy and Xander had been at the house too that morning; any of them could’ve been killed by whoever it was that had shot her, and Tara would have no means to know. “To be sure.”

 

Dani shrugged. “You should ask the lady.”

 

Tara’s heart skipped a beat. “What lady?”

 

Shaking his head, Victor glared. “Dani,” he scolded her as he crossed his arms. His eyes had turned cold, but even though Victor’s sudden change of attitude was making her uncomfortable, Tara focused on Dani and repeated her question. As if something had clicked inside, she felt a flicker of hope warming her chest.

 

For the first time since she had appeared in this world, Tara felt as if she could finally see a road ahead. A purpose in the middle of all this chaos.

 

“That creature is a monster,” Victor warned her instead. “She’s killed more people than you could count.”

 

Only half-listening, Tara kept her eyes on Dani. “Where is she?”

 

Patience ran out of her like blood gushing out of a wound. If there was a way she could know for a fact that her family was okay, then maybe she could let them go. Maybe she could accept her fate and start a life in this new world.

 

But she had to be sure.

 

“On the highest peak of the highest mountain there is a lake as deep as the ocean,” Dani recited as if a fairy tale she had heard over and over again. “They say she knows everything and she can make you see things, but I’m not allowed to go see her.”

 

Tara frowned. “Who’s _they_?”

 

“The few people who have seen her and lived to tell the tale,” Victor explained, walking closer. He loomed above her, his shadow casted over Dani. “They came back _mad_.”

 

Mystical creatures all had flaws, weaknesses; Tara knew that. Rushing ahead to meet this mysterious lady would be dangerous, but short of questioning a little girl Tara guessed she wouldn’t get that much more information. She would have to improvise when she’d meet her, but that was what Buffy did all the time, wasn’t it?

 

“I’m going to see her,” Tara decided then, with a resolved nod. Dani’s eyes brightened up once more.

 

Victor groaned in irritation. “She’s a _witch_ ,” he put bluntly, his disgust evident. “And witches are not to be trusted.”

 

Repressing the urge of fighting that assumption, Tara rose from her seat. “I’m going now,” she affirmed once again, without an ounce of hesitation. An unknown strength was filling her, erasing the doubts and the headache and the exhaustion. She knew where to go now, and what to do – she wasn’t going to sit around and continue to be sorry for herself.

 

“She’ll kill you,” he replied, his disapproving eyes burning against the skin of her cheeks.

 

But Tara had rarely felt so utterly certain of anything in her life. A confident smirk curled up her lips. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m already dead.”

 

Dropping the blanket on a chair, Tara turned towards Dani. “The highest peak?”

 

Dani’s gaze filled with wonderment. “Of the highest mountain,” she confirmed with a wide grin.

 

With her heart beating wild, Tara walked out the door. She barely heard the tiny footsteps following her out on the porch. “Take me with you?”

 

Tara smiled without effort when Dani’s hand tugged on her arm. “You’re a good kid Dani,” she answered, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”

 

A little nod and a pout of disappointment, and Dani stepped back. As her fingers let go of Tara’s hand, it became suddenly easier for Tara to carry on, walking towards the highest mountain in sight. It would take her most of the day to get there, Tara realised, and yet she didn’t look back.

 

She had a witch to find.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

If there was something Tara had never expected to be good at, it was climbing. She wasn’t terrified of heights, but wasn’t really fond of them either, and while she wasn’t in bad shape, she also spent all her time around books. Yet she easily found creases to rest her feet in and ledges to pull her up, as if she had climbed mountains all her life. Her muscles didn’t even feel the exhaustion.

 

It was unsettling, all these new parameters. Tara couldn’t feel out of breath and yet she was still breathing; she was dead but her heart was beating. It had been a day now since her last meal, but she still wasn’t hungry.

 

The higher Tara climbed, the colder the air against her skin. It cracked with an invisible energy; a storm in the making. She worried for a moment about falling down and hurting herself or worse, which only brought back the dizziness of not knowing anything about this world and her new life in it. It would be a new set of rules to learn and in itself, that thought was both frightening and intriguing, but for now she had to focus on finding that witch.

 

Fog gathered at the peak, turning the faded colours of the landscape into smooth shades of grey. Tara stepped a little more slowly, a strange feeling settling in her gut. The mist felt oddly warm, as if it wasn’t mist at all. As if it was the pure essence behind this world; as if it were _alive_.

 

Looking up, Tara noticed a small crack in the thick wall of clouds. Night had fallen and against the black of the sky Tara could see two stars shimmering up above. She stopped then, and realised she hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since she had left the cabin earlier. She couldn’t even tell how much time had passed – it seemed as if everything up to now had been a daze.

 

As if she had been under a spell.

 

She blinked and the clouds vanished, revealing an endless black sky filled with countless stars. New constellations that Tara had never seen before; a view so gorgeous that she gasped. One glance to the side and she noticed the landscape around her had changed as well. Instead of the sharp rocks of the mountain she found herself back in the meadow where she had first appeared. But this time the colours had returned, vivid and bright despite the late hour, the golden leaves of the trees offering a warm glow. Mist covering the foot of the woods.

 

“You see it, don’t you?” a woman’s voice whispered, and as the silence broke, so did the vision.

 

With her heart racing, Tara found herself still staring at the two stars, the clouds obstructing the sky once more. Standing over the sharp rocks of the mountain, she was alone. And freezing.

 

_On the highest peak of the highest mountain there is a lake as deep as the ocean_ , she recited in her mind. She had to move, had to find that lake.

 

Walking down a narrow path, she tried to make sense of the hallucination. As if it could read her mind, the voice returned. “This world isn’t what it used to be.”

 

_She can make you see things_ , Dani had warned. Had Tara even come here by her own will, or had she been pulled by some invisible string? There was no way that she could turn back now, though, and so despite her instincts screaming that it was wrong, that she should head back, Tara continued forward.

 

The road took her around a large rock formation that reminded her of a sleeping bear, and led her straight to a small lake. The round pond reflected the faint light of the two stars above, the whole scene oddly peaceful. A few weeping willows surrounded it, their falling leaves causing light ripples upon the surface. Nothing else disturbed the water, and even though Tara couldn’t see through the darkened lake, she guessed there would be no fish to be found in there. Even the fog kept away from it, as if it couldn’t reach it.

 

Sitting at the foot of a tree just by the lake, an immobile woman stared at Tara. With her white dress she nearly glowed, her drenched hair falling down her shoulders, beads of water trickling down her arms.

 

A rusalka, Tara realised as the woman stood, an enigmatic smile curling her lips. Fear seeped into Tara’s heart while her mind ran over the few things she knew about those creatures – water nymphs believed to be remnants of women who died at sea. Something about them suffering a cruel, violent death, that kept them tied to water. All the clues had been there when Dani had first mentioned this _lady_ ; a mystical creature that lived by a lake... somehow Tara was angry she hadn’t guessed so sooner.

 

That frustration helped silence the fear – slightly.

 

“You do belong here with me, you know,” the rusalka spoke again, her voice warm and charming. “No doubt about that.”

 

Tara shivered nonetheless as the rusalka started walking towards her, her bare feet barely touching the wet rocks under her. Graceful in her movements, she was gorgeous – the kind of beauty that rendered speechless. But more than that, as her honeyed voice went on it seemed like her words made more sense than anything Tara had ever heard.

 

As if she knew Tara better than anyone ever had.

 

But that was what rusalkas did, Tara forced herself to remember. Like mermaids crashing ships into the sea, this one would pull her into the lake until she drowned, if she wasn’t careful. She glanced at the stones in front of her, their end sharp and deadly. This was what she needed to focus on – the danger she was in. No matter how much she longed to look at the rusalka again, to find solace in her beauty; a lighthouse in the middle of the night – _shelter_.

 

 

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she leaned her head forward, trying to catch Tara’s eyes. “This world’s been changed. Poisoned.”

 

The fog around Tara felt different than the rest of this world; that much was true. It was warm and soft, and it brought the same peace that had washed over Tara as she had watched over Dani falling asleep. It was nothing like the faded colours and the nauseating smell of lilacs – this mist, just like the night sky she had hallucinated moments before, was _pleasing_.

 

A hand grabbed Tara’s and her heart dropped inside her chest. “You have many questions,” the rusalka continued, a finger insisting on Tara’s chin. Her entire body screamed to look into the rusalka’s eyes and yet Tara ignored it, her gaze still locked on the rocks ahead.

 

“I have answers,” the rusalka whispered in her ear as she pressed herself against Tara’s shoulder. She was warm, too – even the water that drenched her hair and clothes had some heat to it.

 

Tara took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. “I need to know if the people I love are okay,” she voiced aloud. She could hear the hesitation there, how nervous she truly was, and yet she felt incredibly calm.

 

It was strange to think that she couldn’t trust her own feelings for now, that she had to rely on what little fear she had left to guide her instead. The rusalka squeezed her hand, her lips ghosting over Tara’s temple.

 

“You have fought many battles,” she purred.

 

Breathing out, Tara nodded. “I fought a goddess,” her heart started racing again as she forced herself to take a step back, her eyes digging into the rusalka’s. “And _won_.”

 

It was a bluff – Tara hadn’t been able to stop Glory from invading her mind, but she had managed to keep herself sane. Had reconstructed the damage, one piece at a time – surely that meant something.

 

At that, the rusalka grinned. “Perhaps you can be of some use then,” she let go of Tara’s hand only to slip her fingers under her collar. Fingertips brushed against the cross-shaped scar that rested there, not far from her heart. Tara’s chest burned under the touch, as if something inside was aching to get out. A warning. “If you kill the Usurper for me, I can show you what you seek.”

 

“Is that a demon?” Tara questioned. There weren’t a lot of chances that Tara could win a fight against it, but if it was a vampire, then perhaps she had a shot. She had killed a few lower demons back in Sunnydale with the Scoobies, but on her own... she couldn’t be sure.

 

“You have met him,” the rusalka shook her head as if disappointed. “He has fooled you as he did others.”

 

Tara frowned; she hadn’t met anyone other than Victor and Dani, which meant that Victor was the Usurper, and he was as human as Tara was. Perhaps even more, in some ways.

 

Sickened at the thought, Tara took another step further away from the rusalka. “I’m not killing anyone,” she answered firmly this time.

 

Annoyance flashed across the rusalka’s face for a few seconds before it faded. “He does not belong here,” she explained. “He destroyed this world. _Our_ world.”

 

Tara shook her head. “ _Your_ world,” she opposed. Crossing her arms, Tara clenched her jaw and focused on the ache in her chest, where she had been shot. It was as if something was driving her forward, and yet it was nothing like the blinding seductive charm of the rusalka. It was raw, and anchored deep. “I will not take a life,” she reaffirmed.

 

Upset, the rusalka’s eyes glowed blue. “Since the Usurper appeared here, this world has been drained of its magic,” her voice sounded deeper, and angered. “It slaughtered my sisters, and it is killing me now.”

 

Surprised, Tara frowned. “You’re dying?”

 

The fog seemed to dissipate around them both as lightning struck in the distance. Tara picked up on the distinct smell of upcoming rain as she saw the clouds above had finally started to move. For a passing moment, she wondered if the storm was a hallucination like the meadow had been, minutes before. There would be no way to tell what was real and what wasn’t, if she stayed up here too long.

 

Tara had tried a spell or two back at the cabin, just to see if it would work, but she hadn’t found any magic in this world. Yet the presence of a rusalka proved that it could exist; that perhaps what she was saying was true.

 

“You are strong,” the rusalka licked her lips, “a champion.”

 

Tara shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out, her eyes finding the rusalka’s. It wasn’t fair that she was dying, that this world was collapsing on itself, but Tara wasn’t the one who fixed things.

 

That was Buffy’s job. Tara read books, offered support and hugs and tea. But she couldn’t be a hero – couldn’t save a world.

 

“Is there no other way?” she asked cautiously. The rusalka was not to be trusted, although Tara felt like she was speaking the truth. That her life was coming to an end – Tara could feel her sorrow, as if it was the fog itself.

 

Another lightning hit a little closer to the lake and Tara trembled as thunder cracked loudly, rain starting to fall.

 

_It doesn’t rain here_ , Tara sensed the words inside her mind, trampling all other thoughts as if a stampede. An instinct she didn’t know she had; maybe she did belong here after all. _It doesn’t rain here_.

 

And yet the storm went on, drenching Tara’s clothes as the fog dissipated under the precipitation.

 

“Emotions are powerful,” the rusalka nearly had to yell to be heard over the quickly forming tempest. “And memories are filled with them. Happiness, especially, is really hard to find.”

 

Tara quickly understood what the rusalka wanted from her exactly. A memory to feed on, to sustain herself a little longer. With Glory taking over her mind the year before and Willow erasing memories for who knew how long, Tara felt tears coming to her eyes. She couldn’t possibly trade any more of herself. And especially not a happy memory.

 

“Or you can hurry and kill the Usurper,” she reminded Tara. “Whichever you like.”

 

There was no way Tara would _like_ either of these choices, but now that she had come this far, she couldn’t give up. Yet she couldn’t take a life – and certainly not Victor’s. No matter if he was responsible for this or not; and especially not on the sole testimony of a creature known for her ability to lie and deceive.

 

But could she really give up one of her memories? She wasn’t sure either. Tara knew she had to decide though – and somehow, she already knew she would give in. She had to make sure the people she loved were alright, or she would never be able to stop thinking about them. She would be stuck wondering, or worse: she would do the stupid thing and find a way to cross over.

 

She had to know, _now_. And besides, wouldn’t it help to forget? If she remembered a little less of the happiness she had before, maybe she could build something new here. Not that she could find another family like the one she had, or another love like the one she felt, but _something_.

 

Maybe she wouldn’t feel so lost anymore.

 

Maybe she could fix whatever was wrong in this world, and make a life for herself here.

 

“I will give you one memory,” Tara promised, “but you will show me what I seek, first.”

 

The rusalka grinned. “You feel strongly about your friends,” she walked towards the lake, but it looked almost as if she could fly. As if she hovered above the rocks more than anything. “One memory will be enough.”

 

Tara joined her as the rusalka pointed at the water.

 

There, on the black surface of the lake, she saw a dark night in the middle of the woods. It could have been anywhere, but Tara recognized the place right away – the forest not far from the campus, in Sunnydale.

 

A man was running down a path – Tara could feel his terror, his pain. His anger, too. Burning bright against the darkness.

 

“He is the man who killed you,” the rusalka said, matter-of-factly.

 

“Warren,” Tara frowned. She had heard of him, enough that his face was oddly familiar, but she didn’t know him. Not really. “This isn’t what I asked,” she continued. It wasn’t important to her, knowing how or why she died; only if her family was okay.

 

“Ah,” the rusalka smirked, “but your loved ones are here.”

 

She jumped when Willow appeared – black hair and eyes, she wasn’t the woman Tara remembered. She blinked, her heart seemingly exploding in her chest. How grief had turned Willow into this, Tara couldn’t understand. Her mouth dried up as nausea blurred the image.

 

It was an accident, Warren confessed in terror, and it stabbed Tara’s heart to hear the words. Her death was an accident. A random mistake. There was no purpose to it all, was there? No grand plan during this chaos.

 

He had taken her life, destroyed everything she had built, and he hadn’t even meant to. She wanted to throw up at the thought, or scream until she couldn’t anymore. But all she could muster were tears, and she suddenly felt like she had cried enough for a lifetime.

 

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Willow either. As she threatened him, dark magic flowing out of her wildfire spreading on a hot summer day, Tara couldn’t move, couldn’t _think_.

 

“Oh, you mean instead of killing my best friend, you killed my girlfriend?” Willow accused him with a snarl. Perhaps it should have offered some relief, the confirmation that Buffy was alright, but all Tara could see were Willow’s black eyes, two empty pools of violence and hate.

 

How her anger burned like a supernova.

 

In the midst of it all, Tara could _feel_ how badly Willow wanted to hurt him. How she needed to kill him. How she longed to destroy everything in her path.

 

Shaking her head, Tara tried to take a step back, but found herself paralyzed. “That can’t be,” she breathed out, but it could – it was. That potential for darkness, it had always been there; Tara had sensed it years ago. Willow’s fear of being weak had led her on a quest for more and more power, and perhaps Tara had been a fool for thinking she could keep it under control.

 

Yet a part of her rejoiced a little at the sight of Warren’s terror, at the thought of anyone loving her so much that they would rather see the world burn than living another day without her. Maybe that was selfish, she realised, but Warren wasn’t a good person, and he deserved more than a little pain for all he had caused. But she couldn’t feel the same anger than ran in Willow’s heart, that same bile that wanted to take his life.

 

She was glad that he was cornered like a rat, glad that he was terrified out of his mind – but she didn’t want him dead. Tara wanted him to pay, yes; but not this way.

 

Not with Willow as executioner.

 

Sweet Willow whose hands used to trace invisible paths down Tara’s skin with so much gentleness, care and warmth. Now they thrummed with dark, dangerous powers that made Tara sick, and it only worsened when they conjured up something Tara wished she would never see again.

 

A bullet.

 

One tiny bullet.

 

Tara had seen plenty of those back home; her father and her brother loved to hunt together. She had never dared toy around with their guns and ammo; it felt like it didn’t belong in her world. Like just touching one would make them too real. They were tools of destruction, and nothing else; Tara had always hated guns.

 

That bullet, she guessed right away, was the one that had shattered her chest; that had taken her life in the matter of seconds. It had left her just enough time for the confusion to turn into pain and fear, and then darkness had wrapped itself around her.

 

All and all, it had been quick. But not painless.

 

Listening to Willow describing it, word for word the horrible sensations that had rushed over her so rapidly that she had barely registered it, it made Tara gasp in horror.

 

It was unbearable.

 

“Make it stop,” she cried out to the rusalka, but the vision continued. Panic strangled her as she tried to move – she couldn’t go through it again, not ever again.

 

Buffy, Xander and Anya appeared at the corner of her eyes, and Tara felt a slight relief washing over her. They would stop this madness, stop Willow from doing the unthinkable. They would bring her back from the edge of darkness where she stood, ready to jump down.

 

But Willow wouldn’t listen, couldn’t listen, deafened by her grief and rage. Tara’s heart forgot how to beat as she heard it all – Warren’s last scream of pain, the sound of his skin behind ripped apart.

 

She fell on her knees, the sharp rocks digging into the skin. Yet she didn’t feel the hurt – in shock, all she could do was fight the nausea as Buffy asked Willow what she had done. There was no way back from this, not now, not ever. And Tara could feel Willow’s need for revenge only growing, eating her whole,

 

Willow would create unending chaos and kill and destroy everything in her path. She would unleash everything bad in herself and let it grow, let it fester, let it burn the world.

 

“I want to see Dawn,” Tara choked. She couldn’t continue watching this – it was too much. She didn’t want to know what came next, what Willow would do.

 

The rusalka didn’t say a word, but the image blurred on its own, revealing Dawn cuddled in a chair in Spike’s crypt. He wasn’t there, however – Tara wasn’t sure whether that was a comfort or not. Instead, she was with Clem, watching a movie. _The Wedding Planner_ , she recognized, and a sad smile came over her lips. Of course, the world carried on – would continue to carry on.

 

But even as Dawn slept, Tara could sense her sadness, her grief weighting on her like a ton of bricks. A sorrow too big for such a small person.

 

It didn’t matter that Clem was there; in Tara’s eyes, Dawn was alone. She needed Buffy and Willow more than ever, but they couldn’t be there for her. Anger – her own – rose within. Willow had chosen revenge instead of family. Hadn’t been looking out for her loved ones like Tara would have wanted her to.

 

As if the rusalka could feel that it was enough, the image faded away, and Tara closed her eyes.

 

“I believe you owe me something,” the rusalka murmured.

 

She did. With anger still reddening her cheeks, Tara bit on her lower lip. She had hesitated before; hadn’t been sure she wanted to let go of Willow, of her fondest memories of her. Now she wanted them out more than anything.

 

“Do it,” she instructed, her fingers digging into her thighs as she readied herself for the pain that was sure to come. She expected the agonising hurt that had come with Glory’s fingers running in her mind, but instead she found warm fingertips pressed against her temple, barely brushing the skin.

 

A voice inside her mind urged her to focus on the memory she was willing to give. Tara had planned on offering a small one, some moment that hadn’t been that significant, over all. Perhaps that night she had told Willow about the constellations she had invented as a kid, or the day they had spent in bed that had turned into an idiotic (and seemingly never-ending) game of floor is lava. But now that she was angry, and in pain, there was one memory she wanted to get rid of.

 

One that felt like it stood at the base of everything.

 

It had happened that night when Willow’s ex-boyfriend had returned to Sunnydale – Oz. There wasn’t any electricity in the dorms and Tara had lit her room in candles. It reminded her of her mom, somehow, and yet even that small comfort couldn’t stop the sadness inside her that night.

 

And then Willow had showed up.

 

“You should be with the one you love,” Tara had said aloud the words she had repeated to herself for hours now. Willow had to be with the person she truly cared for, and that wasn’t her. That could never be Tara – she was too awkward, she stuttered too much, she wasn’t pretty enough. She was weird and no one understood her jokes – why would anyone pick her? And especially someone like Willow.

 

“I am,” Willow had promised then.

 

In her life, Tara had never felt that kind of love. Someone choosing her for who she was – someone letting her in.

 

Someone choosing her.

 

Forgetting about the rocks under her knees and the coldness of the mountain air, Tara focused on that feeling, on that night, until she felt tears running down her cheeks. No one could choose someone forever, and keep making that choice. Later Willow had chosen magic and power, and now she had chosen revenge and rage.

 

She wasn’t picking Tara. Not anymore.

 

The rusalka cried out in pain, her hold on Tara’s mind releasing. It left a hurtful sting in Tara’s head as she flicked open her eyes to find the rusalka staggering backwards. “You tricked me,” she barked angrily.

 

Tara hadn’t meant to; she honestly hadn’t. But her memory had turned sour so quickly and she hadn’t been able to stop the pain from flowing from her mind to the rusalka’s.

 

“No one tricks _me_ ,” the rusalka cried out, rushing back to Tara’s side. There was a murderous glee in her eyes and Tara lifted her hands to protect herself as the rusalka’s body fell on her. The rocks hit her back and neck hard, hurting Tara in a cold rush. She gasped at the unexpected flash of physical pain – it pulled her out of the stun that had fallen on her and she finally tried to push the rusalka off.

 

The rusalka’s fingers, the ones that had been so soft before, suddenly had long pointy nails that scratched Tara’s face and chest while she struggled. It seemed like her weight – she was so frail, how could she weight that much? – was too much for Tara to lift.

 

A hand fell on Tara’s throat, quickly choking her as the other reached for her temple, menacing. To siphon the rest of her memories, no doubt; to take everything Tara was.

 

Which was why the people who had returned from the mountain had gone mad, Tara realised. The rusalka had fed off them much like a vampire would.

 

But Tara would not let insanity take over her mind; she would fight and die if need be, but she couldn’t let it win. That would never, ever happen to her again.

 

Her right hand instinctively found a rock beside her, her tentative fingers quickly grabbing it. She didn’t hesitate to strike, then, as hard as she could. The punch caused the rusalka to cry out in pain, but she still wouldn’t move. Tara hit her again, and again, until she felt the rusalka’s hold on her weakening.

 

When she finally managed to push the rusalka off her, Tara rapidly scrambled back to her feet. Staggering backwards, she kept her eyes on the white dress of the rusalka, now stained with blood. A little of it was Tara’s from the scratches, but Tara could see a small streak running down the rusalka’s neck. The rock in her hand was bloodied and it fell to the ground in one loud thump.

 

Tara blinked, panic blinding her momentarily. Was she truly any better than Willow? She had almost killed now – had almost took the rusalka’s life with her bare hands.

 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out, her teary eyes still on the woman on the ground. Her throat hurt as she spoke, unable to voice everything she wanted to say. “I’m so sorry.”

 

She turned around and ran then, sprinting down the mountain as if trying to get away from it all. From the rusalka’s attack and the urge that had taken over Tara, this desperate need to survive no matter what the cost. From the pain of seeing Willow consumed with revenge, of knowing she had left Dawn alone once more.

 

“I’m so, so sorry.”


	3. the highest peak (2)

It had been a little more than a day since she had left that dreadful mountain, and yet Tara could still hear the horrible sounds of that night. The wet and hard bang of the rusalka’s skull cracking under Tara's violent hit - the gurgled noise uttered from her throat as Tara had pushed her aside. It was horrific, and no matter how she tried to forget it, the littlest thing would conjure the memory back to mind. A pointy rock, the faint pink stain on her sweater that had stuck to the fabric despite the drenching rain, the illusion of mist at the corner of her eye; the traces were there. Never leaving her alone.

 

A harsh headache had surged while she had climbed down the mountain, but now that she walked down the valley it receded to a dull, uncomfortable sting at the base of her neck. An after effect of getting a memory sucked out of her, she imagined. Apart from that slight ache, she didn't really feel any different – but perhaps it was simply because her guilt drowned everywhere else.

 

The guilt, and _Willow_.

 

Tara couldn’t stop thinking about that dark, murderous Willow reflected in the water. Every fiber of her wished it was an illusion, and yet Tara couldn’t believe that. Somehow, she had always known Willow could do this – that she had the potential for such destruction. Hadn't Tara mentioned it once, albeit not voluntarily? It had blurted out of her, destroying everything like an oil spill. Their first big fight, all because Tara was concerned with how quickly Willow’s powers were evolving. And now that Tara was gone, Willow was unleashing every dark piece of her into the world, instead of honoring the promise she had made.

 

But had Tara any right to judge her? With the rusalka’s blood on her hands – it flashed in her mind, the sight of her own blood on Willow’s white shirt – she wanted to throw up. Nausea drilled her chest as she forced herself to stare at the horizon, to walk straight ahead without looking back.

 

None of this was right.

 

Dwelling on it, however – on her death, on Willow’s grief – wasn’t unlike gazing down a cliff, with a strong gust of wind pushing on her back. She shook her head, choosing to focus on a different piece of the puzzle for now. The rusalka’s words came to mind, insistent; begging for Victor to die.

 

The more Tara walked, the more solid the truths seemed to become. Victor didn’t belong in this world; it was suddenly a fact that Tara had always known, just like she had felt that it never rained here. Like a song she had learned years ago and forgotten, it came rising from the depths of her mind and wouldn’t leave her alone.

 

Maybe she did belong here after all, Tara was starting to realise, but this world wasn’t hell. It had been turned into one, spoiled and rotten from the inside. Victor had been nice to her, awfully nicer than the rusalka had been. And yet she tended to believe her more, because there was something strange about the fact that she hadn’t met anyone else, or anything else on the way. No other living creature apart from the three of them – and now Tara hoped with all her heart that she hadn’t killed the rusalka with that blow, but she hadn’t stuck around to be sure.

 

Perhaps the rusalka had plunged the people from this world into madness, just like Victor had suggested, but Tara doubted that she had ever killed anyone. There was something sweet in the back of her mouth, a reminiscence of the rusalka’s magic. It felt familiar, like home, or like the caramel cakes her mother used to cook. That was no dark magic, Tara knew, and if the rusalka had been forced to do horrible things, it wasn’t any different from the violence of Tara’s hands when she had feared for her own life.

 

Somehow, her heart beat a little stronger every time she focused on that, and as she returned to Victor’s cabin, her determination to find out the truth about him only grew.

 

That he wasn’t from this world wasn’t even a question for her anymore, but rather how he had travelled here, to a dead realm. If he had made the trip consciously, had landed here by choice, then Tara needed to know how. She needed to go back to Dawn; no matter what.

 

The cabin appeared on the edge of horizon like a squashed bug in a windshield. Over time it returned to its normal shape, all straight angles besides the winding of trees around it, but the wood of its walls seemed almost pitch black, strangely darker than the forest it came from. The smell of lilacs grew stronger, nauseating even more than before, but Tara made an effort to forget it.

 

The clouds still blocked the sky above her, and so Tara couldn’t tell whether it was day or night when she finally reached the cabin. Tara found Dani tucked into bed, deeply asleep, and for a split second she had the urge to reach down and grab her, to take her away from here. Yet she couldn’t explain that instinct; Victor had been nothing but kind and welcoming, but now she feared that he stood behind her, ready to strike.

 

She turned around to find him standing in the doorframe, an angered look in his eyes.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked in a gentle voice, even though his expression didn’t change a bit.

 

Tara’s heart jumped in her chest, panic drooling from it all over her insides like cold water. She remembered a similar countenance her father had, sometimes; rage hiding behind a smirk. It never meant anything good. In those moments, the best thing was always to try and leave the house – only this time, there was no way out.

 

But Tara refused to be afraid. She had been scared too many times before, and she wouldn’t be again. Especially not today. “Not exactly,” Tara answered, taking a seat by the table, as if nothing important was happening – as if her eyes were not scouting the room for anything she could use as a weapon. She noticed the cauldron still burning hot, and a shovel by the door. A large leafless branch hidden in a corner besides the fireplace, like one someone could use as a hiking stick.

 

Something in Victor’s aura shifted uncomfortably. “What did she tell you?”

 

There was no need to play games, or to circle around the truth. “That you were not from here,” Tara admitted in one quick breath.

 

“A father should be with his daughter,” Victor shrugged, stepping forward. The voice wasn’t so gentle anymore, and the muscles in his crossed arms bulged. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

It sickened her, to wonder what horrible story lied behind that sentence. He had done something, something terrible he didn’t want Tara to find out. She frowned, trying not to imagine the worst, and failing. “Even in death?”

 

He crossed his arms, his eyes betraying him as they flicked towards the twig. “She’s mine,” he stated. “I made sure of that.”

 

Tara thought of the star-shaped scar on Dani’s cheek, and shivered. He had hurt her, she was sure of that now.

 

Behind her, she heard a short cough and lazy footsteps – Dani.

 

“Go back to bed,” Victor ordered angrily, in a voice that barely even tried to hide the rage anymore.

 

Yet Dani came to stand besides Tara anyway, a sleepy look blurring her curious face. “You came back,” she smiled, and opened her arms for a hug. As frail arms wrapped themselves around her neck Tara hugged back, picking Dani up from the floor while she stood, holding her safely in her arms.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked Dani in one quiet whisper. She felt the little nod against her shoulder, and relief flooded through her. “I’m sorry I left you alone.”

 

Dani promised it was okay, but Tara didn’t feel like it was. She shouldn’t have left so quickly the first time around; she should’ve asked herself why a little girl would rather follow a stranger to the end of the world rather than stay home with her father. But Tara had been eager to leave, and she had been quick to pin it on a childish thirst for adventure.

 

How many times had people been so quick to dismiss clues with her, too? How many calls for help had she sent that no one had heard?

 

“Did he hurt you?” she questioned Dani, but her eyes remained fixated on Victor. Against the constant dark grey of this world, he seemed to be burning red with hate.

 

Dani shook her head, but Tara could feel a tear running down her cheek, quickly wiped against the skin of her neck.

 

“He hurt you before,” Tara declared without an ounce of doubt, her voice firmer than before. Somehow she was reminded of the weight of the rock in her hand as she smashed it against the rusalka’s head; the strength that had imbued her movements then. She recalled how she could be strong, strong enough to kill if need be. To protect herself; to protect the people she cared about.

 

She thought of Buffy, too. How she would always defend the ones who couldn’t fight for themselves. Dani’s weight in her arms didn’t seem so heavy, after that.

 

“It was one clean shot,” Victor groaned as if annoyed, “she barely felt it.”

 

One shot – one bullet. It had lasted a second, and yet Tara had felt it, the burning pain inside her chest as it tore into her. She had no doubt that Dani had, too. After all, they had a similar scar now, marking their skin forever. Something they both would have to live with forever, and for what? Neither of them had asked for this.

 

“You killed your own daughter?” Tara’s arms locked tighter around Dani, who had frozen against her like the words were more terrifying than the man standing before them.

 

He stepped closer, his fists closed as he let his arms fall on each side of him, as if taunting her to attack first. He reeked of overconfidence and blind rage, while Tara tried to tame the fear that beat her heart senseless. She was stronger than this, she forced herself to remember.

 

Stronger than him.

 

“Stay back,” she instructed Dani as she lowered her onto the floor once more. Her tiny hands grabbed at Tara’s clothes as Tara pushed her behind her. “It’ll be okay,” she promised.

 

There was no doubt in her voice as she spoke; only determination. She barely recognized it as her own, but she had no time to dwell on it now. The Usurper, the rusalka had called him; a fitting name for a monster who hid behind a smile.

 

“She wanted to take her away,” Victor explained, his eyes gleaming with madness. Tara guessed he meant Dani’s mother; that he was trying to legitimize his actions. His violence. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

 

Everyone who had ever done anything awful always had a reason, her mother used to tell her. _Never hide behind an excuse_ , she had repeated to Tara countless times, as if trying to imbue her with a strength she couldn’t find in herself anymore. Her mom had been right about so many things, and about this, too.

 

It didn’t matter why Victor had hurt his daughter, or how and why he had followed her here. There was no excuse for the pain that he had caused, and the world he had destroyed. Tara remembered the starry sky that had been clouded for so long, the warm magical mist that used to cover the ground all over this land; Victor had tainted it, drained it from its beauty, and all because he couldn’t let go.

 

“We have to be together,” he repeated. “Even if it means she had to die.”

 

Tara’s nausea returned at the thought of him raising a gun to his daughter’s head. Chasing that image away, she concentrated on what he was hiding instead of what he was saying. “That doesn’t explain how you followed her here.”

 

_Here_ ; a heaven of sorts. Dani had been murdered by her own father and to apologize for this injustice the Powers That Be had sent her to this magical realm where the starlit nights rivaled in beauty with the gorgeous colours of a golden forest. It wasn’t this dull, empty world that reeked of lilacs, lifeless and tasteless; this horrific masquerade Victor had turned an entire realm into.

 

His eyes flicked towards the fireplace for less than a second, but Tara noticed.

 

“You found something that could let you travel between worlds,” she voiced the answer for him.

 

He smirked. “In our land, we worshipped the World Tree. Dedicated out lives to tend to It,” he explained with a shrug. Tainted with disgust, Victor’s voice had lost a little of his rage. “I was never much of a gardener.”

 

The twig resting beside the fireplace seemed to glow then, as if trying to catch Tara’s eyes. The World Tree was a legend she hadn’t read much on, but she remembered the basics. One tree from which all life grew; even a leaf from it could wield impossible powers, she imagined. A branch? It would be enough to break through the strongest barriers – to tear through the fabric of life itself.

 

But magic always had a cost, and the slow agony of this world had been the price for Victor’s horrific reunion. Keeping him tied to a realm where he did not belong, it had drained the mystic energy out of the atmosphere, had even killed its inhabitants.

 

“I can’t let you keep it,” Tara warned him, her voice steadier now that she understood what was at stake. It wasn’t just about her wanting answers anymore; it was about saving a world from destruction. There was no time for self-doubt, she repeated to herself as she felt Dani’s tiny fingers digging into her skin.

 

Victor laughed. “Are you threatening me, little girl?”

 

Tara raised an eyebrow, her silence taunting him as his expression turned serious. “Dani, come here,” he ordered, losing his patience.

 

A strange energy warmed Tara’s chest as she crossed her arms. “If you want her,” she repeated the words Buffy had spoken to her own father once, “you’ll have to go through me.”

 

That memory fueled her resolve – it was what she had been fighting for, even after her death. For what was right, and true, and _hers_.

 

“I’m not scared of you,” he claimed, an evil grin starting to twist his lips.

 

“You should be,” she warned him, her palms tingling. As if she could draw power from the twig itself, she felt a rush of raw energy surging through her. “Dani, step back and close your eyes,” she instructed, her eyes locked into Victor’s.

 

The twig, it seemed, was calling to her. Begging for a new master.

 

She cracked her neck. “You’re never putting your hands on her again.”

 

It wasn’t a threat, she realized as she spoke. It was the truth.

 

As he lunged forward with a punch, Tara summoned a quick protection spell to shield both herself and Dani. It flickered blue when he hit the conjured wall, just as the energy violently pushed him back, throwing him all the way to the threshold of the cabin. Tara crossed her arms, waiting for his next move, strangely confident. Her newfound strength buzzed in her ears as he groaned in pain, struggling to stand up again, a little stream of blood running down from the corner of his mouth.

 

“Leave now,” she advised him as he contemplated having another go.

 

His eyes flicked towards the twig for only a second, but it was enough to betray his intentions. As soon as Victor made a run for it Tara followed, the protection spell dissipating in her wake. Two hands reached the branch at the same time and Tara nearly lost her grasp on it right away, the twig burning hot against her skin.

 

Victor used that moment of confusion to punch her hard in the ribs, but the pain only strengthened Tara’s resolve. She held onto the branch even harder, her skin blistering from the unbearable heat. Meanwhile her other hand cast a powerful blow that sent Victor flying back again.

 

Dani let out a little scream as he cried in pain, and a rush of cold water ran down Tara’s chest. She thought of the rusalka and how she had regretted nearly killing her, and promised herself she wouldn’t conjure another attack. She cast another protection spell around herself and Dani, and stepped back.

 

In her hand the twig stopped burning, and she found it easier to breathe. Little fingers grasped her clothes again before intertwining with hers.

 

“Let’s go,” Tara suggested to Dani, her eyes still locked on Victor. Bent in half, he rested his shoulder against the threshold, one arm limping at an odd angle by his side. Broken, Tara imagined, and her worry that he might strike again vanished.

 

Dani’s terrified gaze, however, warned her that she did not feel the same. “I’ll protect you,” Tara promised, “but we can’t stay here.”

 

Anxiously biting her lower lip, Dani stopped staring at her father to find Tara’s face. “Why?”

 

Tears rushed to Tara’s eyes, but she forced herself to smile. This cabin, no matter how much violence it had witnessed, it was all Dani knew of the world. She remembered a similar time in her life when she had thought herself a demon, when the words of her father had shaped a prison inside of her. But there had always been magic, Tara reminded herself; like a window onto a better world, a promise of better times to come, Tara had always held onto that warmth. The same warmth she had felt only hours before, surrounded by mist up on a mountain where she could see countless stars.

 

“Because we belong somewhere else,” Tara explained, and Dani seemed to understand. The fear that fogged her eyes dissipated long enough for her to squeeze Tara’s hand more firmly. Like it was time.

 

A mist of orange energy rose from the ground around them, wrapping both Tara and Dani and fogging out the rest of the cabin. It smelled of rosemary, and tingled against the skin like a very light rain. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, revealing that the walls of the cabin had been replaced by an endless pink horizon.

 

Blinking, it took a few seconds for Tara to realise that Dani and her had teleported up the mountain where she had encountered the rusalka. She had been thinking, she remembered now, of that vision she had been granted, of how this world had been before Victor had tainted it. It seemed as if the landscape itself was waking up from a terribly long slumber, the grey clouds making way for the sky above.

 

“The lady,” Dani shivered against Tara, her tiny fingers holding even tighter.

 

Tara turned around to find the rusalka staring at them both, her eyes void of the feverish energy that had been there before. This time she seemed peaceful, and Tara felt the fear rushing out of her, leaving only exhaustion behind.

 

“You saved the child,” the rusalka noted matter-of-factly. “But did not kill the man.”

 

Shaking her head, Tara let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I couldn’t,” she answered.

 

With a quiet nod, the rusalka seemed to approve, although not without some disappointment.

 

There was a fresh scar on the rusalka’s face, and Tara’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought that her hands had drawn that terrible line. “I’m sorry,” she repeated yet again.

 

“So am I,” the rusalka admitted, her gaze falling on the infinite landscape around them.

 

It was as if the air itself was returning from a long, heavy sleep. A gust of wind pressed against Tara’s skin, like a promise that the world would carry on.

 

The twig digging in the dirt beside her, Tara leaned on it absently. “What will happen to him now?” she asked, more for Dani’s sake than hers.

 

Dani had taken upon herself to gaze at everything around her, but mostly at the rusalka. Her eyes shone with curiosity, but were still tainted with worry.

 

The rusalka sighed. “Without this,” she pointed at the branch, “he will lose his hold onto this world, and be returned to his own.”

 

Tara nodded without a word, a part of her hoping it would be a hellish dimension. But she couldn’t fully concentrate on that thought, or on anything else – not when she had in hand the means to leave this place; to return to Dawn. Tiny fingers were still wrapped around hers, squeezing hard. “And Dani?”

 

“I will keep her safe,” the rusalka offered with a warm smile, “if you let me.”

 

She only hesitated for a second; strangely, the more the sky appeared from behind the clouds, the more Tara felt connected to this realm and the ones living within it. She suspected once it was perfectly clear, they would share every thought and every feeling, in some very strange yet peaceful communion. She had to leave before then, she realized, or it would be that much more difficult to leave.

 

Staring back at her, Dani’s bright and sharp eyes still had a whole world to discover.

 

“I have to go now, sweetie,” Tara smiled, running her fingers through Dani’s hair, mimicking the gesture her own mom would do from time to time, whenever Tara was scared of something. “But you’ll be safe here,” she promised.

 

Dani nodded, as if she already knew, somehow, that she would be. “Where are you going?”

 

Over the last few days, there were so many questions that had crossed Tara’s mind, so many uncertainties that had clouded the path ahead. Doubts like hands pulling her down, keeping her from doing what she had to do. But now it seemed like everything was clearer, just like the wind scattered the clouds that had obstructed the light for so long.

 

Now, Tara knew exactly where she had to go.

 

“Home.”


	4. the right thing, the dumb thing (1)

Once again, Kendra found herself right in the middle of trouble, and once again, the blame fell on her ridiculous sense of altruism. Why she always had to go and do the right thing, no matter the cost, was beyond her own understanding. Her parents said it was a virtue; most of her friends called it a pattern of mild self-destruction.

 

Zak, naïve and kind-hearted Zak, had always maintained that it was a _calling_.

 

His optimistic views on the matter weren’t hard to explain, since he was more often than enough Kendra’s self-proclaimed damsel in distress. This time, however, he had truly bit more than he could chew. Today he hadn’t gotten into a fight with the thugs down the street who harassed every kid in the neighborhood; he hadn’t summoned a trickster out of an enchanted jar and wasn’t able to force it back in.

 

No, today Zak had managed to get them both into trouble so deep that for once, Kendra wasn’t sure she could pull them both out of it.

 

Which wasn’t something that had ever happened before; for as long as she could remember, Kendra had always felt stronger and faster than most. She had dreams sometimes of another world where she had been chosen amongst all the children of her generation, one unique champion imbued with the strength to fend off the dark forces. And even though Kendra would have never considered herself a dreamer, over time it had sank in, this idea that she had the power to do things no one else could. The strength to change the world, or at least to protect the ones who needed her to.

 

Therefore she believed she was always going to win – except she wasn’t so sure now, she realized as she ducked another blow.

 

This ten-feet-tall demon with a hammer for a hand, she wouldn’t get rid of it so easily. And the fact that a few more just like him were observing the fight as if waiting to be tagged in – well that was more than just bad luck.

 

Kendra threw another hard punch against the creature’s stomach, but as her knuckles flared up with pain she noticed it had barely moved the demon. Rather than give up, she reached for a small crate behind her and managed to throw it at her assailant. As it broke open, an orange powder fell on the creature, creating a cloud of dry and spicy smoke around him.

 

With her eyes watering, Kendra tried to suppress the violent urge to cough, suddenly worried of what she had just done. She had never liked the idea of Zak toying around with magical artifacts, and had kept herself away from anything even remotely supernatural. In her small apartment on Bay St., her black cat and her expresso machine were all the magic she had ever needed.

 

Zak’s place, however, had been filled with strange gourds and boxes of powders of all colors. Each had a purpose that seemed to make sense to him, and he reveled in mixing them, in finding new properties his books had never been quite able to explain. The few times she had agreed to watch him work, she had been surprised by the careful attention between every gesture, as if any one of his ingredients could explode with one sudden move.

 

The orange powder hadn’t blown up, however – it fell to the ground slowly, still choking Kendra as it burned inside her throat and nose. Yet she didn’t have time to focus on that particular pain; the demon was lashing at her once again, barely bothered by the powdered cloud that still hung around him.

 

She quickly moved out of the way, seemingly dancing around the crates and the demons, avoiding every punch. It came to her almost naturally as she focused on her anger instead of the ache that slowly started to course through her muscles.

 

_Never again_ , she repeated to herself a thousand times.

 

When Zak had turned his skin purple, she had helped him reverse the spell without a second thought. And when one of his experiments had backfired and bunnies had started to pop all over the place, she had offered her assistance too – hell, she had even adopted one of the furry little buggers. But _this_ , this was way too much.

 

Only an idiot like Zak would try to open a portal to another dimension for fun, and then manage to fall in it.

 

And, Kendra thought reluctantly, only another idiot would follow through in the hopes of saving him.

 

One kick between the demon’s legs brought no more reaction than the hard punch in his gut, and Kendra returned to dodging hits, frustrated that she hadn’t found his weak spot yet.

 

_The eyes_ , she kept thinking, but below the creature’s bald forehead she only saw two short slits, no nose, and a triangle-shaped hole where sharp white teeth confirmed the presence of a mouth. They were horrifically ugly, and Kendra pushed aside the panic that grew inside as she started counting how many of them she’d have to fight.

 

Still it was hard not to be overwhelmed when she not only had no idea of where she was – some cavern filled with crates and large sacks – but, more importantly, of where Zak had been taken. Although he had fallen in the portal only mere seconds before Kendra had jumped in, there was no sign of him anywhere around.

 

A short sword hang from the demon’s waist band and Kendra waited for the right moment to pounce, stealing it from him in one quick move. Something hit her lower back as she brushed aside, a little braver now that she was finally armed. She promised herself to always have a weapon on her from now on, no matter how many times Zak told her she didn’t need one.

 

“How about this, big guy,” she offered as her sword hit the demon’s hammer, cutting the flesh to reveal dark, nearly black blood. He hissed and groaned as the other creatures growled, but didn’t move. They were laughing, Kendra understood – fear squeezed her heart tight. “I grab my friend, we jump back through the hole we came from, and we all forget about this.”

 

The laughter only grew, but the creature Kendra had been fighting stopped moving. He shook his head, his strange mouth twisting into what she figured was a smile. “People come here many ways,” he replied with a raspy voice.

 

In all her life, Kendra had never been into a fight she couldn’t win. Even in her dreams, when she fought vampires and demons with this girl she didn’t know, whose name she could never remember in the morning, they never, ever lost a battle.

 

And yet now, she wasn’t so sure how she would get out of this.

 

“I can see why,” she joked, looking around at the bleak room.

 

There was a door behind that demon, but her eyes lingered on it a little too long, as she failed to notice the hammer that punched her once again. It fell on her shoulder and the pain rushed down her spine, blinding her momentarily while she struggled to keep breathing.

 

Ducking the second blow on instinct, Kendra plunged her sword into the demon’s gut. She would have triumphantly pulled it back if she hadn’t heard a light buzzing right above her head. Looking up, Kendra saw the bright blue light of the portal quickly fading, and something as cold and hard as a rock fell in the bottom of her stomach.

 

Her way out. _Gone_.

 

Just like Zak.

 

The demons’ growling laughter roared once again, but Kendra had no time to hear it. She jumped towards the door and pulled it open, revealing a long darkened corridor that reeked of burnt flesh.

 

She couldn’t hesitate – she stepped forward, ready to run. Yet all she could do was fall on the ground as something crashed against her head. Pain flooded her senses as sticky blood ran down her neck, and just as fast as the portal had vanished, Kendra lost consciousness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You talk about slaying like it’s a job. It’s not. It’s who you are.”

 

Her own words echoed as Kendra ran down the darkened corridor, her heart so heavy it seemed to slow her down. An invisible threat followed; cold hands with long nails. Just as she thought she had distanced herself from it, a figure appeared in front of her.

 

This long dress and that frightening smile – Kendra recognized the woman, yet she couldn’t remember her name.

 

“Look at me dearie,” the woman ordered. And then, almost gently, asked; “be in my eyes.”

 

But Kendra had to resist. Had to look away.

 

“Be in me,” the woman pleaded once again.

 

An unbearable pain flashed across Kendra’s neck and she finally woke up with a gasp. Choking on the dry air, she struggled to sit upright, her panicked eyes struggling to recognize her surroundings. The putrid smell made her nauseous and she winced, noticing her left arm had been secured into a sling.

 

Dislocated shoulder, she guessed, but the sudden movement hadn’t hurt at all. She frowned – numbness had seized her limb, as if it wasn’t truly hers anymore. Kendra shivered as she continued to push herself up on the mattress.

 

This room was considerably larger than the one she had appeared in, and apart from one demon guarding a door, there seemed to be only humans here. None of them looked in good shape; bruises, cuts and burns had marked their skin, some even missing a limb or two. Where bodies disappeared under blankets entirely, Kendra refused to let her imagination run.

 

Dimly lit, the makeshift infirmary felt more like a house of horrors, and for a split second Kendra almost hoped she hadn’t woken up. She had spent years praying for that recurring nightmare to leave her, but in this hellish dimension, the dream was familiar. In a twisted way, it reminded her of the home she wanted to return to.

 

“Where is Zak?” she questioned the old woman sitting on the next bed. Her throat ached at the effort and she pushed down the coughs that threatened to worsen her nausea.

 

The old woman shrugged. “You should drink,” she suggested instead, pointing at a glass of dirty water on Kendra’s settee.

 

Shaking her head, Kendra refused. “A man came here, just before I did. Where is he?”

 

For a second or two, the old woman’s eyes filled with pity, but it was soon replaced with annoyance. “You arrived here alone,” she insisted, rising from her bed to grab the glass of water. Her trembling hands brought it up to Kendra’s mouth, the gesture strangely bold despite her frail body. “Just you.”

 

Kendra used her good arm to grab the glass, a little guilty that she had troubled the old woman with her stubbornness. Under the old woman’s stare – and, she thought, the curious glances of the other humans around – Kendra sipped the greyish water in hopes it would quench her thirst a little.

 

Warmth spread throughout her chest as if she had swallowed a shot of tequila, but the liquid bore no taste or scent.

 

“There’s something in this,” she grimaced at her own naivety.

 

Nodding, the old woman pointed at Kendra’s dislocated shoulder. “Drugs,” she replied, pain etched across her face as she slowly spun around and returned to her own bed, mumbling something Kendra couldn’t quite hear.

 

Pain medication, she immediately guessed. It would explain why she couldn’t feel her left arm, but she was still weary of drinking any more of it. Placing the glass back onto the settee, Kendra looked around the room once more.

 

Furtive glances filled with fear and exhaustion, beds cramming up all the space except near the door where the demon stood guard; they were all prisoners here, Kendra confirmed. She wondered if she should ask them about where she was exactly, or why they were kept here, but she doubted she’d get any answers. Besides, from how they avoided her inquiring eyes and whispered nervously to one another, Kendra deduced her arrival wasn’t welcomed.

 

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from trying. “Do you know where my friend could be?” she asked the old woman, her heart tugging at the thought of Zak.

 

But the old woman only lied down and closed her eyes, turning around as if she hadn’t heard Kendra’s question.

 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion or the fact that she preferred cautiousness over recklessness, but Kendra decided to leave it alone for now. As her burning lungs slowly accustomed themselves to the rotten stench of the place, she sipped her water again. Silently observing the other occupants of the infirmary, she realized the old woman was the only one above the mid-thirties. Everyone else was younger, and in one corner there were even a few kids and teenagers chatting and pointing at her.

 

Kendra avoided their looks and focused on herself instead. She was still wearing the clothes she had picked that very morning, in another world. Her red tank top was stained with blood, and her black cargo pants had been torn near the knee. She emptied her pockets subtly, placing her belongings in one small line between the wall and herself, ready to be hidden under the blanket if curious eyes came her way.

 

Her apartment keys, a cellphone, her wallet and a pack of gum – that wasn’t much to put up a fight. Still, it was better than nothing.

 

One of the teenagers suddenly appeared by her side, startling her. Her reflexes weren’t as sharp, she realized as she rushed to hide her small treasure. The teenager’s smirk confirmed that he had noticed the move as he sat beside her, one of his feet on Kendra’s mattress, obviously comfortable.

 

“I know where he is,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

 

_Zak_ , Kendra guessed right away. Her heart raced; “where?”

 

The teenager yawned as if he was already bored with the conversation. “Look, new girl – everything here as a price,” he suggested, his eyes avoiding hers.

 

He looked older than his age, but Kendra could tell his bravado was mostly an act. Behind him, in the far corner of the room, the kids had stopped talking and only stared in admiration. He had been dared to talk to her, she imagined. The chances of him telling the truth about Zak’s whereabouts were thin.

 

So thin that, if she had been back where she belonged, she wouldn’t have paid this teenager any attention. But she was in a new world, where she knew nothing, had no clue or where to start searching, and no weapons. A world where Zak’s life and hers depended solely on how well she would handle things.

 

“I will trade for the information, of course,” she matched his serious tone, the way he looked away instead of directly at her, as if it made the conversation less suspicious.

 

The demon guard, however, had barely glanced their way once, which told Kendra there was no need for secrecy. They didn’t expect anyone to break out of here, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why. Kendra recalled the long darkened corridor outside the room she had appeared in, and guessed a similar one awaited her outside of the infirmary.

 

Shrugging, the teenager crossed his arms. “You don’t have anything I want,” he lied poorly, one hand falling on the blanket besides Kendra’s hidden possessions.

 

From the poor state of the room and its occupants, Kendra guessed even the smallest thing would be considered enough to trade for the information. She barely hesitated before she grabbed the pack of gum, offering him one. The teenager frowned as he picked it up, staring at the stick as if he had no idea what to do with it.

 

Toying with the chewing gum in one hand, he cleared his throat. “Everyone who’s strong enough is sent to the mines,” he explained, rising to his feet. “If your friend isn’t dead, then that’s where he is.”

 

Without any other explanation the teenager returned to his friends, and Kendra winced.

 

There was no way to know for sure, she realized, whether or not Zak was still alive. She hadn’t seen him in that first room and he wasn’t here now; that could have meant anything, including that he hadn’t survived his first encounter with the demons. She swallowed hard, trying not to think of all those near-misses they had been through together. This world was harsh and cruel, and it didn’t matter that Zak was brave and cunning; he didn’t have much going for him here.

 

She imagined his glasses smashed on the ground and a puddle of blood, and shivered.

 

He was alive – he _had_ to be. She had come here to save him after all, and she had jumped right behind him in the portal. She couldn’t be too late.

 

She simply couldn’t.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Over the next few days, Kendra observed the few comings and goings around the infirmary. Food rations were delivered once every morning – or what she guessed was morning, since she hadn’t seen the sunlight in just as long – and always by children. She guessed every human in here had some sort of labor to accomplish every day, but from what she had gathered most of them worked in the mines.

 

What they were mining for exactly, no one seemed to know.

 

Some part of Kendra longed for her shoulder to be fixed already, so that she could start plotting an escape more efficiently. Locked inside the infirmary, there was only so much that she could do. If the other prisoners had noticed her fussing around, they hadn’t spoken a word to her. They all shared that empty look in their eyes, as if they already knew what Kendra was furiously denying; that there was no way out of here.

 

It was Hell – of that, she was more than certain.

 

The way others described the work in the mines – tedious, painful, endless, – she truly shouldn’t have been looking forward to it. Yet it meant leaving this room, and potentially finding Zak, if that teenager she had spoken with a few days ago was right. In the back of her head, the more time passed, the more doubts nagged at her. Zak had never been very good with physical labor; back when they had been a couple, she had been the one taking care of everything around the apartment. Clumsy as he was, it seemed less and less likely that he had not been sent to the infirmary. Yet she refused to think of the truth his absence was screaming.

 

Kendra’s dislocated shoulder buzzed with warmth, the drugs in her water obviously still working their charms. It made her sleepy, and so she tried to avoid taking them as much as possible; already she had trouble keeping count of the time she had spent here. More than a few days, a little over a week perhaps, she guessed. But apart from the meals that tasted like cardboard, there wasn’t much to tell apart yesterday from today.

 

Except on this particular day, when the door had opened yet again to let the children through, it had revealed instead three more demons. Instantly Kendra rose to her feet, her fighting instincts kicking in. The tallest of the three, she noticed, had a dark brown scar where she had stabbed him with his own sword. She smirked at the sight, although there wasn’t much to feel cocky about; she hadn’t won that battle.

 

She had ended up here, with her arm in a sling, waiting for something to happen. And that was it, she realized as one demon pointed at her; it was time to leave.

 

Walking towards them with no rush, Kendra could feel the eyes of the small crowd staring at her. Although not unaccustomed to the resigned silence, it unnerved her this time. She glanced to the side, trying to find the teenager she had spoken with when she had first arrived, or the old woman, but couldn’t pick them apart from the others.

 

Soon, she had reached the demons, and she knew she wouldn’t come back here. Either she would die out there, or she would escape. There were no other options.

 

The tallest of the demons pulled out a knife. The blade cut the sling off Kendra’s shoulder but she didn’t wince, not giving them the satisfaction of knowing how scared she felt. She breathed down deeply, moving her left arm without feeling much more pain than a light twinge.

 

“You work,” the demon stated as if a condemnation.

 

Her heart beat faster as she nodded. Behind the threshold of the open door, a long darkened corridor seemed to spiral into nothingness. The slight breeze that rushed in was even warmer than the staled air of the infirmary, and yet she walked through it as if the heat wasn’t unbearable.

 

As if she wasn’t advancing, defenseless, down into the bowels of Hell.

 

While their footsteps echoed against the cavern walls Kendra forced herself to think of another place. The old sofa in her living room, the radio playing in the background as she’d read the newspaper. Orange juice – she would kill for some orange juice. Or any fruit, really; anything that would remind her of the sunshine outside.

 

Anything other than this foul smell that seemed to stick to her skin, and that left her sweating grossly. Her clothes glued to her skin and she wished she could stop walking for a minute and tear off the lower part of her cargo pants to turn them into shorts. She promised herself she would, and then felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t thought of finding Zak first.

 

But none of it mattered when she took sight of the large hall she had been brought to. Down below and all around her, as far as she could see, rocks were thoroughly being pickaxed by the miners. Some workers seemed so far away that at first glance, Kendra thought they looked more like ants. Thousands of humans silently focused on their tasks, a few demons here and there keeping an eye on them – making sure none of them stopped working.

 

The noise of their labor echoed throughout this horrific cathedral, and Kendra suddenly felt very, very cold.

 

Trying to save people had always been such a dumb idea.


End file.
